If it weren't for bad luck, we'd have no luck
by niicoly
Summary: Han, Luke and Leia die.


**one**

"Dad--!"

Ben's warning came too late, and Lady Rhea's blade sliced straight through Luke's center. There was a split second of glorious silence until Vestara's scream pierced the air.

Luke wasn't sure what happened next until he heard another anguished cry and Rhea's head dropped and tumbled near him, somehow, and two strong arms carried him from battle.

He couldn't figure out why his son was crying, because the Light was so raw and violent and breath-taking, and why couldn't Ben appreciate it as much as he did--

iOh./i

One semi-wrinkled hand reached up toward Ben's pained face.

"It's going to be okay," both whispered at the same time, both with the same selfless, forced smile.

"Ben," Luke said hoarsley, "Go to the ship. Tell Kenth not to come. Go home. You'll re-strategize... at home. Hurry."

His son shook his head. "No. You'll tell him yourself."

Luke felt tears thickening his eyelashes.

"I'm so proud of you."

Ben's face went white. "No, Dad, please..."

He welcomed his fading vision. The last thing he saw was Ves running, pumping her legs as hard as she could toward both of them. She stood at a distance, too scared to put a hand on Ben's shoulder.

Soon he would watch his Order, and his loved ones, and everything he treasured from afar. He would embrace everyone who'd gone before him. But first, the Force allowed Luke to re-live any moment of his choosing.

Mara was curled up in their bed. He could see the chipped polish on her toes poking out of the blankets. Luke ran a hand above her, not touching her, not waking her. She mumbled something and hugged the covers closer to her body.

But a voice whispered, iDon't waste it, Farmboy. You'll see me soon enough. You know what you want./i

And then the wind was coarsing through his hair.

"You better catch up, Wormie!"

He forgot what it was like to be so ishort/i. He cranked Uncle Owen's landspeeder to the left, effectively putting him in lead of Biggs. Luke looked up at the sky, at the blue sphere hiding the stars, and couldn't remember ever seeing it so vibrant before.

**two**

It all started when Daala made a rude comment about Leia's daughter's womb.

It wasn't necessarily an insult about Leia's six precious grandchildren, or even a dark off-hand remark about Anakin Skywalker's bloodline. No, it was the inference that producing Imperial heirs was iall Jaina was good for/i that made Leia's fist collide with Daala's nose.

At first, the tiny, graying brunette stood petrified in shock over what she'd done. She hadn't hit anyone in such a manner in years, especially not in a Senate corridor.

Daala stood equally still. She calmly brought one hand up to her face, and then examined the blood gathered on her fingers. "I think that makes us even, Leia."

"What are iyou/i going to say?" Daala asked, crossing her arms inside the turbolift. Chief of State Lor was demanding a public apology from both of them. Leia deicded now was not the time to rub the irony in anyone's face.

The ex-princess barely raised an eyebrow. "You were right," she said quietly. "You and I are even."

Daala rolled her eyes. "Oh, gods, you're not even going to apologize, are you?"

Leia ignored her. Something about the fight had reminded her of swinging a blaster, of fighting for answers no one would give her, of iced rebel bases.

On the podium, after Daala was finished reading a pre-written speech from a teleprompter, Leia straightened and folded her hands.

She started with the representative to her right. Ch'ylm of Ryloth had used extra campaign money for a new estate instead of donating it as promised. Tearn of Dantooine didn't care that his administration was using torture techniques. The embargo started by Conno of Felucia was causing thousands of people to starve to death.

Something was very, very wrong with Leia's left arm.

There was more pollution on Geneosis than ever before, and Represenative Bleav was being persuaded not to talk about it. Represenative Ternan from Naboo didn't care about the natives being denied modern health care.

Her skin was paling with each word. She could see it in the reflection of her box seat.

At least nine senators from the Mid-Rim were using taxpayer money on gifts for their mistresses. Five were aware of their planetary governments spying on civilians.

There were a couple long pauses, not for dramatic effect, but because the tightening in her chest was making it difficult to talk. Someone in the technical department tried to cut her microphone countless times. Leia stopped each tiny electrical signal with the Force.

Kuan of Chandrilla had signed off on at least twenty executions without a trial in the past year.

"Leia, stop," Daala silently mouthed. She'd never seen Leia sweat that much. Or look so exhausted.

Ten senators were accepting bribes from known war criminals.

"And I'm Leia Organa Solo. I've caused more horrible things to happen to our galaxy than most people are comfortable thinking about. I'm no better than anyone else in here."

Forming every syllable was hard. It felt like her tongue was -- numbing?

"Don't you dare make me apologize for a broken nose. Don't you dare insinuate that the blood on my hands isn't sacred."

She tried to say more, something her brother had told her after the burning of Kashyyyk, but her heart couldn't take any more yelling. She collapsed.

The wireless microphone attached to her tunic collar never shut off. The entire Senate listened as Leia's time of death was called by a young paramedic.

When the connection finally faded, no one dared to move.

**and three.**

Han knew he was in trouble when the coughing didn't subside. He threw himself toward the table and his elbows knocked his silverware and glass of milk to the floor.

Then he ricocheted back, twisting around in his chair until he jumped up and began punching his own chest. The fish bone didn't dislodge. He stumbled toward the sink and put his hands on either side of the counter for leverage, and the coughs became manual and slower, and his lungs felt like they were on fire.

There was one last plate left out that he used to break the window.

No neighbors came rushing.

He staggered back and black dots appeared in front of his eyes. Han half-heartedly slapped at his neck, still trying to gag, but then he couldn't anymore.

Han never believed he was special or good enough for an afterlife. But choking there on the tile, lying in a puddle of blue milk and take-out leftovers in the middle of the night and looking utterly ridiculous, he could have sworn he heard the mocking laughter of a Wookiee growing louder and louder.


End file.
